A More Imperfect Union preview
by Jander Panell
Summary: A freshly graduated student arrives at a palace to serve as the prince's new music master. Little does he know that he is a pawn in a treacherous ploy involving the prince, the prince's concubine, and the entire continent. AU, discipline, Zemyx, AkuZeku


**A More Imperfect Union**

One: What Do You Do With a BA in Music...? (Working title)

Pairings: Zemyx, AkuZeku, possible future MarVex, possible future XemSaix, possible NamiDem

Rated: M

Warnings: Fantasy AU, slash, master/slave relationships, lemon, noncon, discipline/spanking, possible inconsistencies (which is your job to point out!)

Summary: A freshly graduated student arrives at a palace to serve as the prince's new music master. Little does he know that he is a pawn in a treacherous ploy involving the prince, the prince's concubine, and the entire continent.

Consider this a spiritual successor to _Tainted But Beautiful _(except that "Tainted" isn't finished yet...sigh). Especially at the beginning, a lot of the aspects are shared with _Tainted_--a naive Demyx coming to live with an a lot more confident and self-assured Axel, Zexion as Axel's slave, who's acutely aware of his sexuality, and everyone pretty much manipulating and/or using poor Demyx. Of course, it's a different universe entirely and the "plot" (or what little there is so far) is nothing like _Tainted_'s. Still, basically, all I'm saying is that if you enjoy(ed) _Tainted_, youll probably enjoy thi.

Since this will probably be a fairly long work (though nowhere near as epic as _Tainted, _I hope), I won't update it until I complete my current outstanding projects--_Tainted But Beautiful _and _Through a Mirror Darkly_. Think of this as a preview, mostly to gauge interest.

Also, I will use this opportunity to shamelessly plug my fictionpress and both **Winged Victory **and **Most Perfect Servant**, both of which share many themes with this story (though one is sci fi and the other is...well...).

* * *

Demyx had forgotten how warm the air of the southern country could feel. He'd spent a bit too long cloistered in the University located in the city of Tirems near the northern border, where the winters were cool and crisp the summers less warm than mild. It was late fall, or would be late fall in Tirems, but the air here was hot and humid and pressed down on him like a hundred choking hands.

How did the people here _stand _it? They were milling around in the narrow streets, laughing loudly and chatting in quick, staccato bursts, heedless of the pounding heat. Soldiers in rich red uniforms bursting with gold braid rode on horseback through the streets, their chests puffed out impressively, their faces glistening with sweat, but still they rode straight, with vigor. Children chased each other back and force across the cobbled streets; there were even a few jumping from roof to roof across the narrow, flat-roofed whitewashed buildings. Vendors pushing carts (some labeled, in stenciled letters, "ice"--Demyx perked up and gazed at those ones in interest), wove crazily through the crowd, swearing as they elbowed people aside, who swore back. Above, the sun was a bright hot eye in an achingly blue sky.

So much activity. Demyx buried his face behind a hand, so he could close his eyes and actually see blackness, instead of the dull redness otherwise behind his eyelids. He'd gotten so used to the steady stateliness with which everyone at the University walked--if one didn't already know how to affect that slow and purposeful stride, one quickly did after a year or two or risked being called a stupid freshman plebe from a backwater. Demyx thought that if he tried to affect his university stride in these streets, though, he'd be trampled alive by all the hurrying and scurrying people.

It was good that he'd decided not to walk. Inside, he was sitting in the hard back seat of a rented carriage, his luggage stacked neatly in front of him and trying to hold his insides in whenever the carriage wheels went over one of the many bumps on the road. The low roof offered him protection from the sun but not from the heat; he'd already sweated through his clothes, and they were his lightest summer garments! He'd bought them right before leaving, and the tailor had assured him that these clothes would be light enough to brave the hottest of Vemhrel summers.

Well, now he was here in Vemhrel and the thin cotton tunic and matching fawn-colored trousers, as fashionable as was appropriate for a learned gentleman, were sagging down with sweat. He glanced out the window at the crowds again; most of the people were dressed very scantily, in loose and colorful clothes that they draped over their shoulders and wrapped around the waists and otherwise covered nothing else. Demyx fantasized about how loose and airy such garments must be, but the words of his etiquette professor screamed in his head: _A young man must dress as is appropriate for his station and dignity! _

So strange. He knew he was still within the Medhul lands, populated by people who looked like him--long-limbed, tan-skinned, light-haired--but he felt like he'd entered another country entirely. Then again, the Princedom of Vemhrel was one of the southernmost of the multiple fiefs and holdings of Medhul, located right on the border of the southern nation of Nzento. To a northern Medhuller like Demyx, it _was _pretty much another country.

"Hey, kid, what business've you got with the palace, anyhow?" called his driver. Demyx stiffened at hearing her voice; ever since he'd paid her several silver pieces and climbed into the carriage, he hadn't seen her speak at all.

"Well, umm," he said, feeling a bit uncomfortable talking to her. She wore her hair cut short in the back, though also bore two bizarre antenna-like protrusions from the front of her hair. Like him, she was tan and blonde, but he felt no kinship with her in the slightest. Though she was plainly a woman in body, she wore a man's tunic, cap, and boots, and sat with the open-legged lazy grace of a working-class man.

Oh, he knew exactly what kind of person this supposed "man" was; he'd known many of them in his university days as well. Hell, he'd even dated one for a winter before discovering that "she" was really a he. The professors had despised such people and spent many afternoons at the lectern preaching about how unenlightened and backwards their existence was. They were an embarrassment to a Medhul that was trying to modernize, a relic of country ways.

"Umm?" The driver laughed harshly. "Geez, I wonder what 'umm' is. Wanna explain? Some fancy university business?"

"No," said Demyx, deciding that he didn't like her. "I mean, I'm a musician. I'm going to work for Prince Axel as his master of music."

He couldn't help but swell in pride when he spoke the words. Imagine that! Most of his fellow music students would receive prestigious positions, performing in orchestras in the major Medhullian cities, but none could say that they were going to be the premier musician for a _prince, _of all people!

"Ahahahaha!" The driver threw her head back in a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, poor you."

"Huh? What's that mean?" Demyx demanded.

"Nothing...it's just our dear little prince is a bit...screwy in the head?" The driver waved one hand casually to the side, before seizing the reins again. "I hear that anyone who comes into his palace doesn't come out again. Or comes out in a coffin."

Demyx scowled and folded his arms. That was just silly commoner gossip! "Whatever. I think it's an honor."

"That's 'cause you don't _know _the dear prince in the slightest, boyo," the driver said.

"And _you _do?"

"Better than some northern university kid, I'm sure.

"Listen, I don't care what rumors there might be about the prince," Demyx said, his temper rising. "It's still an honor to work as his music master."

"Ohhh, you poor thing," the driver said, snickering. "A poor little university kid like you. He chased out so many of the _real _musicians that he had to get some wet-behind-the-ears kid who had to learn to play from a _school. _Now if that's not pathetic, I don't know what is."

"Hey, listen here!" Demyx shouted. "I graduated magna cum laude from the School of Music in Rancis University! If you actually _knew _anything, that'd mean a lot more than you think. The University is only the most prestigious school in all of Medhul--"

"Yadda yadda yadda," the driver said. "All the university education in the world isn't going to save you from Prince Axel."

"He can't really be that bad," said Demyx, fascinated despite himself.

"Ohh, believe me, he's--well. Special. Hey, here we are."

Indeed, there they were--as the streets grew steadily wider and emptier, and the houses larger and farther apart, and the people better-dressed, an enormous white wall loomed into view. The outermost wall of Prince Axel's palace.

Demyx's heartbeat quickened. Here was where he'd be living, possibly for the rest of his life. He leaned forward to get a better look, but could see nothing except the wall. It was so _high_...as high as some of the trees he'd so loved perching on top of in the University, where he could get a good view of almost all of the sprawling campus.

"Well? Get off. They're staring at me funny," the driver said, throwing a distasteful look at the guards--their uniforms spotlessly white--standing in front of the heavy golden gates recessed into the wall.

"All right, all right," Demyx said, annoyed, but eager to finally get away from her. He began hauling his luggage of the carriage, which was rather harder than he'd anticipated. He had brought quite a bit, since he'd had a porter to help him when he'd left Tirems, but here, he had to huff and puff and carry the heavy bundles by himself. The driver was looking increasingly annoyed, but she wasn't making an effort to help him.

Once Demyx had hauled the last of his luggage off--his sitar case, which he held closely and lovingly--he doffed his hat to the driver, indicating that she should leave him now. She cackled and mocked a salute.

"All right, boyo," she called over her shoulder. "Have fun! And if you ever change your mind about our dear darling prince, well, come to the city and ask for Larxene. My brother and I run a boarding house, you see, and we've got a quite a few little university kids like you staying."

"Yeah, sure, okay, thanks," Demyx said, glad that she'd given him a name--now he knew exactly who he ought to avoid.

The carriage disappeared and Demyx turned towards the gate and the guards. There were still a few yards separating him from them; the yards stretched into miles as he panted and gasped and dragged his luggage after him like an ant carrying a leaf, yet in the ant's case it wouldn't find the leaf that heavy. Several times, Demyx almost tripped over all of his bags. He felt stupid and ashamed and wished that instead of staring at him, the guards would _help._

"What is your business?" demanded one of the guards when he was close enough.

"M-my, my name is Demyx, son of Emyd," Demyx panted. "I--I come from Rancis University, in Tirems? I'm to--to be Prince Axel's new master of music..."

He tapped the side of his sitar case and gave them his most winsome grin. They stared coldly and blankly back at him.

"Come in," the other guard said.

The gates gave a great grinding and slowly, seemingly on their own, slid open inch by tantalizing inch. Demyx craned his neck, peering forward for a glimpse of his new home. Now he was no longer breathless just from exertion, but from excitement as well.

He was going to be living in a palace...

* * *

Several courtyards and buildings later, Demyx was feeling signifcantly less enthusiastic.

The luggage seemed to a weigh a ton now. He was considering abandoning at least one or two of the packages--certainly he didn't need _all _of that sheet music, did he?--but the guards flanking him never allowed him to stop to rest for long, certainly not long enough to divest of some of his luggage. They kept shepherding him through doors and archways, giving him barely any time to see the palace. What he glimpsed impressed him, though; the floors were a mosaic of gleaming glass and shellwork, bolts of patterned-silk blew in a faint breeze that did nothing to relief the heat, fountains tinkled all around, the stone of the buildings was blindingly white. The University had held a certain sort of grandeur, but it was ancient and heavy and squat, always reminding Demyx of the old men who ran the University, men in long and heavy velvet robes and stiff wigs.

In contrast, Prince Axel's palace's was grand in a virile and youthful way. All around was light and color and life--servants weaving between marble pillars, bearing aloft trays of heavenly-smelling sweets; a line of guards drilling and chanting on a sand parade grand; birds with vibrant red plumage fluttering between fruit trees, keeping up a trill of high notes. Even though he felt tired and sick and ready to die from the heat, he couldn't help but feel a glow of excitement in the pit of his stomach. He'd never be bored in this place. It wasn't the University, but it wouldn't be a bad home.

The guards stopped in front of a door of polished dark wood, inlaid with a gilded design of flowers and leaves. Demyx was lagging a little bit behind him, so he took the opportunity to catch up with them, taking as long strides as he could underneath all that luggage.

"He ought to be in here," one of the guards explained flatly to Demyx.

"Um, all right," Demyx said.

The other guard rapped sharply on the door, once, twice. "Your Highness," he called. "Your new master of music has arrived."

A click issued from the other side of the door, and much like the gates had earlier that day, it opened on its own. For some reason, a chill ran down the back of Demyx's neck, though he couldn't explain it. The guards motioned for Demyx to step in, so he did, walking slowly because of all his luggage. His heart was pounding an anticipating staccato in his chest; he was feeling a bit nervous now.

He was going to meet his new benefactor, his new patron, his new...his _prince. _Demyx had never met a prince before in his life. He had no idea what to do--he knew he should bow, but how low? Should he touch his head to the forehead, or just kneel?

Demyx settled for kneeling, falling to his knees on the coral marble floor; he winced a little when the cold stone impacted his knees through the thin material of his breeches. This was easily the smallest and most intimate room he'd seen so far, walled in a porous stone slightly paler than the marble floor, and draped with sheer, rose-colored curtains throughout. The centerpiece of the strangely spartan room was a long, low reclining couch, upon which sprawled a young man.

Prince Axel of Vemhrel.

Demyx was surprised by how young the prince was, even though he'd been told that Axel was only about a year or so older than him. Still, he'd been expecting the prince to look a bit more...commanding. The young man sprawled in the couch, his cheek propped on one long-fingered hand, exuded an aura of languid self-assurance, but there was none of the coldly commanding faculty that Demyx witnessed so often from the University President. He could have been any bored young nobleman.

He was tall and slim and long-limbed, elegantly proportioned, and with a lean well-tanned body that he felt no shame in showing off, since he was draped only in a loose red-and-gold cloth flowing from one shoulder. He wasn't ostentatious about his jewelry, wearing only a few gold bangles on each arm and ankle and a single ruby stud in each ear--not much more than what Demyx was wearing, though he could easily tell that the prince's jewelry was far more expensive than his own cheap silver trinkets. The prince had the most amazing hair, too--all red and spiky and wild, reminding Demyx strangely of a porcupine. His eyes were piercing green, and were emphasized by the strange teardrop-like markings beneath them. Something about the prince reminded Demyx of a lion--not a proud and majestic chief of a pride, but a rangy and starving loner, more fierce than imposing.

To Demyx's surprise, the prince wasn't alone--another young man stood at the head of the couch, balancing a silver tray of sweets in one hand. So he was a servant...? But he didn't look like any of the plain, understated servants Demyx had glimpsed before in the palace. For one thing, with his petite build, snowy pale skin, and bluish hair, he was clearly not Medhul, but one of the northern Altrians. And he was wearing...an elaborately silk robe in the Altrian fold-over style; though the robe was more tight-fitting and exposing than the ones Demyx had seen before, baring the youth's narrow shoulders and accentuating his slim waist with an elaborately bound dark blue sash. His hair fell over one eye and was adorned with three white roses. His features were at once sharp and delicate, and sardonically amused smile quivered at the corner of his blue-lined lips.

Something akin to disgust seized Demyx's stomach. A...a _concubine? _The boy could be nothing else. If his professors had railed against people like Larxene, they railed even more insistently against the keeping of slaves--especially pleasure slaves. The mission of the University was to enlighten all of the continent and destroy all vice wherever it might arise--not just the vice of commoners, but the vice of the ruling classes as well.

"Well, good morning, there," the prince said, sweeping his eyes over Demyx, examining him as intently as Demyx had been examining the prince earlier. "Our new music master, imagine that. You're pretty young..."

"I've just graduated, Highness," Demyx said with the low, almost mumbled, respect that had been drilled into him by his etiquette professor shortly before he'd elft. "Magna cum laude from the School of Music in Rancis University in Tirems..."

"Oh, that's...impressive. Hey, you can stand up, you know."

Demyx didn't like the tone the prince was taking with him, but he wasn't going to argue with his new employer. He stood up, a little shakily; his knees had started cramping from their prolonged contact with the floor.

"What's your name?" Axel said.

"Demyx, son of Emyd," Demyx said.

"Just how old are you again?"

"Twenty-one, Highness."

"All right. What kind of music do you play?"

Ah. This was the sort of question Demyx enjoyed being asked--because he could then let his expertise shine in the matter. "Well, I can play pretty much anything, Highness. The old ballads, the new avant-garde pieces, hymns and stuff, keyboard and guitar solos, the flute too--I like the Altrian flute, it's so very haunting if you play it right--but my favorite instrument is the sitar." He patted the case still strapped over his shoulder. "I don't think a lot of people have, umm, heard of it, Highness; it's an instrument from the south, from Nzento, it's got a really distinct twang...I like it. I wrote a sitar suite for my senior thesis."

"Mm-hmm." The prince nodded. "And you can sing?"

"Of course, Highness. I sang the part of Aizaku in the School of Music's annual opera last year. We did a performance of the Tragedy of Chained Aizaku; this year I was the Hero of Light in the Heart of the Kingdom..."

"All right. So you sing tenor? And you have experience with opera?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Hmm, you won't be so bad, then," the prince said, gazing at him through half-closed eyes. "The last music master, do you remember, Zexion? He was _dreadful. _I mean, he could play a harpsichord like nobody's business but when he sang you just wanted to run away before your eardrums could pop."

"Ah, I believe that's why you fired him, Highness," the concubine said. Demyx blinked, startled at hearing him speak; his voice was light and soft, with the faint trace of an Altrian accent.

"That's right," Axel said lazily, reaching out and touching the concubine on the face; the concubine leaned closer to him, his expression unreadable. Demyx's stomach roiled a bit. Like he needed to watch this! "We've been put in a bit of unfortunate bind because of that, though... We're due to hold our annual music competition soon, between all the nobles of the realm. I don't remember the Prince's Court ever winning in the past five years or so. If you're really as good as you say you are, then you should be able to help us reverse that."

A music competition? Demyx's heart pounded in excitement. Now _this _was more up his alley!

"I won't let you down, Your Highness," he said eagerly.

"'Course not...y'know, the two of us, Zexion and I, were going to sing the duet from Chained Aizaku. I think we're both pretty decent singers, but I bet you could do better than I could, huh?"

"Err...I suppose, Your Highness," Demyx said nervously, glancing at the Altrian youth. Sing a duet with a concubine? He wasn't sure he could bring himself to do that...

"Oh, I haven't introduce you, have I?" Axel sit, sitting slightly more upright in his chair and flashing Demyx a brief, shark-like grin. "This here is Zexion. My personal assistant, got it memorized?"

"A pleasure to meet you, sir," Zexion said, dipping his head into a bow.

"Uh...yeah. Nice to meet you," Demyx said, lying through his teeth. Assistant nothing--the boy was plainly nothing more than a pleasure slave! Of course Demyx knew that the southern lands were much less enlightened than the north, but it was still shocking to think that his employer kept concubines. He wondered how many Axel had.

"Hey, I bet our new music master is starving, isn't he? I mean, it must have been a long journey," Axel said. "Don't be shy, Zexion. Serve him."

"Yes, Your Highness." Zexion sank one knee in front of Demyx, his robe pooling around him. He held out the silver tray to Demyx, clearly prompting him to take his pick of the sweets stacked in neat rows on it. As revolted by Zexion's presence as he was, he had to admit his hunger took precedence as of now. The last time he'd eaten had been in the inn last night, and he hadn't eaten much of it because whatever the inn had been serving smelled awful.

There were all sorts of confections on the tray, many of which reminded Demyx of the treats he'd have loved to buy from the candy stores in Tirems but never had enough pocket money to (the poor, strapped budget of a university student...): triangles of honey-coated pastry, sugary pink and white bonbons, marzipan fruits and animals, pockets of cream-filled fried dough, poppy-seed studded buns, caramel-laced almonds, slices of candied orange and ginger. Demyx's mouth was watering so much he had to make a conscious effort not to drool.

Feeling strangely self-conscious though he couldn't say why, Demyx reached out and snatched a few bonbons, buns, and almonds. He would have taken more, but didn't want to look greedy--and was deathly uncomfortable, anyhow, with the idea of Zexion serving him. "Th-thank you," he stammered out.

Zexion nodded in acknowledgment and stood, retreating back to Axel's side, his face completely blank. Demyx gnawed on the end of an almond, feeling like an idiot.

"It's good," Axel said, offering Demyx a conspiratorial wink as he nibbled on the end of a candied orange peel. "My personal candier is the best in all of Vemhrel, got it memorized?"

Demyx had no idea what to say in response to this, so he didn't grace it with a reply. He felt all sorts of mixed, confused emotions, which he didn't even want to begin sorting through. It was strange; he'd set out feeling nothing but triumph and excitement, but now...after Larxene, and those things she'd said about Axel, and now standing here in front of the prince and his concubine...it just felt all bizarre and mixed-up. The bonbons, sweet as they were, felt sour when they went down his throat.

"Hey, did you have to take all of those bags?" Axel's voice cut rudely through Demyx's thoughts. He was staring at the multiple packages and bags strewn around Demyx.

"Uh...umm..." Demyx said, feeling awkward. "Yes, Your Highness."

"Well, that's not right," Axel said. "You shouldn't have to carry all those on your own! Here, I'll get you a porter to help take your stuff to your quarters, all right?"

"My quarters, Highness?" Demyx said, perking up.

"Yeah. Where did you think you were going to be living? You'll be staying in the musicians' wing of the palace--since you're the music master, of course you'll get the best room. It has a view of the Terimari River, if I remember correctly..."

"Ah, of course. Do you remember that one music master--it must have been about a year ago--who threw himself from the window in the river, Highness?" Zexion said dryly. "I suppose he was trying to combine death by drowning and death by falling. What do you suppose actually killed him?"

Axel laughed. "Oh, you."

Demyx goggled at the two of them. Were they joking...about someone committing _suicide?  
_

Once again, he found himself regretting his decision to come here.

"All right, why don't you show Demyx to his room, Zexion?" Axel said, dismissing Zexion with a casual wave.

"Uh, wait, what?" Demyx choked out. "Uhh--I really don't think that's necessary, Highness..."

"No, I insist," Axel said; the look on his face invited no argument. "No one knows his way around the palace better than Zexion; hell, not even me. And if you're going to be singing together, you'd best get to know each other, right?"

"I suppose, Highness," Demyx said dutifully, but inside he was clenching up. He didn't want to came anywhere nearer that--that _pleasure slave. _And one who joked about such morbid subjects, too! He was an enlightened Medhuller, a university graduate. He wasn't going to play along with the barbaric conventions of a prince's court, no matter how important that prince might be.

"Yes, Your Highness," Zexion said, offering Axel a brief bow. Then, in a whisper of silk, he turned towards Demyx, fixing the new (and now somewhat reluctant) music master with an unreadable expression. "Come, Lord Demyx. It is a long walk, so we had best get started early..."

A long walk. Great. Demyx groaned inside.

* * *

"Tell me...what is the university like?"

Demyx was keeping himself deliberately several paces behind Zexion, his hands shoved in his pockets and pretending to be absorbed in examining his surroundings. Anything to make it clear to Zexion that he was not interested in talking. For a while, he'd been walking alongside the porter some ways behind him, who was pushing his bags on a cart; he'd even tried striking up conversation with the porter but gave that up when the porter refused to answer his queries.

Demyx had to admit he was surprised by the concubine's latest question, though. Before, Zexion had been asking him fairly boring and basic questions--where do you come from, are you enjoying it at the palace, that sort of thing--but he hadn't popped a question about the university yet.

In fact, he was surprised enough to answer. Without thinking, he blurted out, "It's great!"

"Great. And how so?" Zexion had stopped walking, allowing Demyx to catch up him, so that they were side-to-side. Demyx immediately shuffled a step backwards, not wanting to get _too _close to the concubine. Standing that close, he'd gotten a strong whiff of Zexion's perfume, which reminded him strongly of violets...

"You couldn't even imagine--" Demyx began, thought a bit, and rephrased his thoughts. "It's--it really is the most amazing place. Not at all hot and sticky like it is here. The air, it was always cool and crisp, and there were trees and grass everywhere. I remember...we'd study outside a lot, gathering in circles under the huge oak trees..."

Oh, shit, he was doing exactly what he'd adamantly told himself not to--indulging in homesickness. No, he had no reason to miss the University in the slightest. He now held the prestigious, indeed _enviable, _position of master of music in Prince Axel of Vemhrel's palace. What could the University with its stuffy old professors and squealing little underclassmen give him anymore?

Plenty. For the past four years, it had been his home--and the best home he'd ever known.

He glanced around the shaded walkway they were walking in; it led through a garden full of lush trees and flowers that filled the warm air with their honey-sweet scent, making Demyx feel drowsy and lightheaded. More of the scarlet-plumaged birds flitted back and forth across the trees.

"You're already nostalgic for it, aren't you?" Zexion said, throwing Demyx a coy smile over his shoulder. The concubine, Demyx noticed, was wearing makeup--a metallic silvery-blue shadow around his eyes, matching his painted lips and polished nails. His eyelashes were also much thicker and darker than normal for a man or even woman, casting long shadows over his pale cheeks.

Demyx felt his violent hatred for Zexion increase. "Of course I am. It was my home."

"That's...very nice," Zexion said, his eyes sliding half-shut so that his lashes fluttered suggestively. He'd clasped his thin hands behind his back, in a strangely demure gesture. "You were a music major, yes?"

"Of course," Demyx said, annoyed. He felt at his sitar strap again; he hadn't allowed the porter to take _that _from him.

"But you studied other things as well..."

"Yeah, well, everyone has to study the core curriculum. Mathematics, literature, history, composition and rhetoric, at least one foreign language. That sort of thing."

"And I imagine you had libraries..."

"Yeah," Demyx said enthusiastically. "I really liked the library the School of Music had. It had sheet music for pretty much every song out there, all the way back into the times before the New Peace...they were all crumbly and molding but you could still read the notes."

"Hmm. Interesting." Zexion cocked his head coquettishly, surveying Demyx with an inquisitive frown. Demyx returned that frown.

"Why are you asking me all these questions, anyway?"

"No reason, really...except that I'm interested. I've never met anyone who attended a university before..."

"So? What's it matter?" Demyx said, feeling tired and very unpleasant indeed. "It's not like there's any classes at the University for people like _you_..."

"People like me?" Zexion said, his voice soft but sharp-edged. "And what do you mean by that?" His slim, flawless shoulders had stiffened; Demyx could see the muscles of his back knotting up. Savage satisfaction knifed through him.

"You know what I mean," Demyx continued, still savagely. "We're a respectable institution. Too bad for you, but we don't have any classes that teach how to seduce people or whatever."

A hand, surprisingly strong, snatched the front of his tunic and spun him around, slamming him into the nearest pillar. Demyx cried out in choked surprise, trying to wrench Zexion's slim wrist away from him, but the concubine held on tight, fixing Demyx with an acid glare. His face had gone even paler in his anger.

"Don't be so presumptuous, university brat," he hissed. "Just because _you _were fortunate to have parents who could pay your way through the ivory halls doesn't mean that everyone else is."

"Wh-what? Huh?" sputtered Demyx, confusion swimming in his head.

"Fool," Zexion hissed, releasing Demyx. Demyx slid against the column, utterly shaken and bewildered.

"But that's what I don't get," Demyx stammered, the words flowing from him despite himself, "why someone like you would wanna get a university education. It's not like you need it."

"Someone like me," Zexion echoed, with a dry little cough of a laugh. "You don't know the half of it, fool. I imagine that you look at me and see a--a, a concubine, you call it? A pleasure slave. A _toy. _Yes?"

There was only one honest answer. Demyx jerked his head in a nod, and found himself speaking again. "It's foul, degenerate, selling your body like that--"

"As I said, you don't know the half of it," Zexion said.

"And what _is _the half of it?" Demyx said challengingly.

"Ahh...I think I've given away too much," was Zexion's maddeningly obscure answer. "But do try to get along with me, brat. I get the feeling I'll only be seeing more of you in the future."

He'd drawn a fan now and opened in front of his face, so Demyx could only see his eyes over it. Demyx put his hands on his hips and glared harder at the boy. Like hell he was going to get along with some pleasure slave who called him a "brat."

"Also, try to control your obvious attraction to me," Zexion added, his words like ice. "It won't get you anywhere, unless you feel like asking the prince for permission to share a night with me..."

"Shut up!" Demyx cried, aghast. He stumbled away from Zexion, trying to seek an escape--_any_--from that smirking (he knew Zexion was smirking, even if he couldn't see his face through the fan) little seductress, that sharp-tongued and devilish and so horribly _beautiful _creature. It wasn't right. Demyx didn't like men in the first place, and even if he did, he'd never view a pleasure slave that way.

All he wanted was to get as far as possible away from Zexion. He staggered and stumbled further and further backwards, unable to remove his gaze from Zexion's face, unable to tear his eyes from Zexion's amused deep blue eyes...

In restrospect, Demyx would have to say he richly deserved what happened next for not paying attention. However, at the moment, he could only lie on top of his scattered luggage and the battered cart and the indignant porter, aching all over and cursing aloud his absolutely atrocious luck.

* * *

I'm quite sure that my favorite character in all of this is drag-king-Larxene. I bet you can easily guess who her bro is.

Anyway, I really ought to stop embarking on these new projects and focus on finishing the ones I've started. Namely, _Tainted. _But that twenty-eighth chapter is giving me histrionics! All of my planning has just...broken apart there. Sadness.

[shameless plug time] _Check out my fictionpress, dammit. _[/shameless plug time]

If you're interested in seeing more of this after I finish _Tainted _and _Through a Mirror, _say so in your review.


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